


When it's Finally Too Much

by JU5TU5



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But the reader could be any gender I guess, Depression, NON-GENDERED READER, Reader-Insert, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JU5TU5/pseuds/JU5TU5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader has been hunting with Cas and the Winchester Brothers for a few years, ever since his parents had called the Winchesters and dumped him on them. For most of his life he has struggled with depression and self-harm. He had been trying to get better, but recently has spiraled deeper into depression than he ever has before. After a hunt goes badly, he locks himself away in his room with a bottle of jack and his favorite pistol, determined to stop being a burden to those he cares about. Cas finds him before it's too late, but how will Team Free Will react to their friend trying to kill himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When it's Finally Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> Please, be gentle. This is my first ever fic. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: There is description of self-harm in this fic. I don't think it's too graphic, but if that triggers you, please don't read this. There are also strong descriptions of suicidal and depressive thoughts, so again please don't read if that triggers you.

You storm into the bunker, duffel bag slung over your shoulder and head straight for the booze. Reaching one of the tables in the main room, you drop your bag and grab a bottle of whiskey, sitting down heavily and pouring a generous amount into a glass. Dean, Cas, and Sam trudge down the stairs soon after you, dropping their own bags near yours and joining you at the table. Silently, you offer them the bottle.

"Nah," Dean says. "I think I'm gonna head to the nearest bar and try to forget this whole week."

Sam gives him a disappointed look but just shakes his head exasperatedly. "I'm going to go for a run, then I'm going to sleep for a few days." He says, his voice tired. 

There are a couple moments of silence before Cas says, "I will stay here with you, Y/N."

You nod, offering him the bottle. He politely declines as the boys both leave to utilize their coping mechanisms. You often wonder if Cas has any of his own; he's generally trying so hard to play the strong, silent card that you can't tell. But you push these thoughts aside, taking a swig of your whiskey.

This hunt had been a bad one. A town in Michigan had had a rash of mysterious deaths, so you and the team had decided to go check it out. You spent days looking into each case, even though you quickly came to the conclusion that a demon was responsible. Dean and Sam came up with the idea to set a trap for it, and despite arguing with you at first, agreed to let you be the bait. The trap was set and ready, but you sprung too soon and quickly the demon had you on the ground with a knife at your throat. Dean saved you, but in the struggle with the demon almost got stabbed in the heart. It was Sam and Cas coming in and Cas stabbing the demon with an angel blade that saved yours and Dean's skins. You just sat there in shock the whole time, frozen. Dean, of course, checked to make sure you were okay before tending to himself. You were a little roughed up, but you'd almost gotten Dean killed with your stupidity. Once again the Team had to save your ass. Your mind filled with thoughts of how worthless and useless you were as you gathered your gear and climbed into the back seat of the Impala with Cas. You understood why the boys had flown the coop so fast; everyone was still keyed up from the hunt and needed to blow off some steam.

You don't understand why Cas stayed behind. You wish he'd left with the others so you could suffer in peace. The little voice in your head that constantly whispered things like "you're a waste of space" and "people would be better off without you" and "no one will ever love you, you're too damaged" was getting louder, and it was getting hard to bear. Finally, after half an hour of you downing more and more whiskey in an attempt to drown your thoughts, Cas touches your arm gently. "Are you alright, Y/N?" He asks, his gravelly voice gentle.

You plaster a smile on your face. "Yeah, Cas, why do you ask?"

Cas frowns at you, his brows creasing. "You've managed to drink half of that bottle in half an hour, staring blankly at the table." He points out.

You sigh. You really don't want to do this right now. "I'm just tired. This last hunt was tough." 

Cas gives you a doubtful look. 

"Fine." You say, trying not to be frustrated with him. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll put the whiskey away."

"Thank you," Cas says, looking slightly more relaxed. 

You start to feel yourself crash, your body finally coming down off its adrenaline high. You let your head fall forward onto your arms, trying to get some peace from your thoughts. But you only slip deeper into that negative headspace. You groan. You are _so_ not drunk enough for this. 

"Y/N?" Cas says, concern coloring his voice. 

You don't hear him at first. "Just kill yourself, already." The voice in your head whispers. "They hate you. You are a waste of space. All you are is a burden to them." The little voice won't leave you alone. All you want is for it to leave you in peace. The rational part of your mind reminds you of what has worked in the past. You sighed internally. You'd been trying so hard to get better, but it looks like you were going to have a major setback. This time, the voice doesn't even have to tell you, you already know; you're a failure. You stand up, abused muscles screaming in protest, but you ignore them. You grab your duffel and start to head to your room.

Cas' voice halts your steps. "Y/N? What's wrong?"

You turn back to him, giving him a tired smile. "Sorry, buddy. I'm okay, just really tired. I think I'm gonna turn in."

Cas studies you for a few moments, but you must put up a good enough front because he nods his approval. You give him another tired smile and turn to trudge to your room. Once inside, you set your duffel on the bed and pull out your favorite butterfly knife, then head to the bathroom. You take the first aid kit out from under the sink and sit down on the toilet. Grimly, you pull up your sleeve and set the blade on your skin, pulling it across a soft patch, one of the few places remaining that aren't marred with thin, silvery lines. Blood starts to bubble up through the wound. You wince. It's not that you like the pain; it's that you deserve it, and this way, the voice quiets, satisfied that you've gotten your due. You make another cut, and another, until your arm is littered with them. You didn't mean to make so many, but they didn't make the voice go away this time. They made it get louder. "Come on, this is the best you can do? Pathetic. You deserve so much worse." "Just fucking kill yourself already, what's the holdup?" "You deserve to die. You're fucking worthless."

"God, why won't you shut up?!" You  say, frustrated and angry that your usual coping mechanism is proving useless. "Haha, just like you," the voice says. You growl and throw your knife down, watching as it skitters across the tile. You just want your mind to be quiet. 

The voice speaks up again. "If you kill yourself right now, I'll shut up. Forever. You won't ever have to listen to me again. And you can finally stop being a burden to the rest of the Team. They won't have to save you anymore. Isn't that what you want?" It whispers. You promised yourself you wouldn't go down this road, but you find yourself listening to that voice. You just want it to stop. You want to stop hurting. And you want to stop being a burden to the boys. You know that if you're gone, they won't have to deal with you anymore. They won't have to put up with your shit anymore. 

That thought seals the deal. A sense of calm washes over you as you open the first aid kit and pull out some gauze, holding it to the cuts on your arm until they stop bleeding. They weren't all that deep, but you don't want to risk losing too much blood; if you pass out, you won't be able to end your pain once and for all. You clean up the bloody gauze and throw it away before wiping the blade of your knife and tucking it into your pocket. Then you return the first aid kit to its place beneath the sink. 

Quietly, you exit the bathroom and walk over to the bed and your duffel. You reach a shaking hand into the battered but sturdy burlap bag and pull out your favorite pistol. You sink onto the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. A tear rolls down your face. You don't want to die, you don't. But there just doesn't seem to be another way to get rid of the pain and the self-hatred. You stroke the barrel of the gun lovingly. It's been a faithful companion. "One last kill, my friend." You whisper to it. 

Your hands are shaking almost violently now, and there are more tears on your face, but you raise your arm determinedly and bury the barrel of the pistol into the flesh of your temple. 

"Dean, Cas, Sam, please forgive me. I don't know if you still care about me, beyond thinking of me as the little kid my parents dumped on you, but for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry. If for some reason what I'm about to do gives you pain, please know that I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm only trying to end my pain and make sure that you guys never have to worry about me again. I can finally stop being a burden to you all." You take a breath, and shift your finger to the trigger, preparing to squeeze it. "Please, forgive me..." you whisper. 

Just as you're about to pull the trigger, there's a loud knock at your door and the sound of Cas' voice. "Y/N? Y/N, are you alright?"

You jump, and your finger slips off the trigger. "Cas?" Your voice sounds weak, so you clear your throat and try again. "Cas? What is it?"

"Are you alright?" Cas' voice is almost shaking, sounding unsteady.

You laugh. "I'm fine, Cas. Why the sudden worry?" 

Cas' tone changes almost immediately. "Damn it, Y/N, don't lie to me." A pause. "If you don't tell me the truth and let me in right now, I'm going to break down the door."

"Whoa, Cas, calm down, I'm-" You start, but cut yourself off in surprise when the door blows itself to bits. Cas steps through the doorway, frantically searching the room until he finds you. His eyes widen in surprise and fear when he sees the gun in your hands. He zaps himself in front of you and yanks the pistol away from you, checking the safety and chucking it away. His eyes search yours, searching for the answers to a million questions. But instead of voicing all of them, he asks just one. "Why?" 

You give him a pained look, begging him not to force you to say it. He seems to understand that you don't want to talk about it, and hovers two fingers over your forehead, asking silent permission to read your thoughts. You nod once. He presses his fingers softly to your forehead, taking in your broken psyche. His eyes close against the agony he finds there, only opening again when he's seen all there is to see and he gives you a pained look of his own. "Oh, Y/N." He says quietly, his voice broken. He pulls you into a tight hug, one hand resting on your back, the other stroking through your hair. "You are loved. Sam, Dean, and I all love you. You are not, nor have you ever been a burden to us. I know you're in pain and it feels like everything hurts, but this is not the answer." His words are quiet, reassurances in the wake of devastation. 

You don't quite believe him, but you are too exhausted to argue. Instead, you bury your head in his shoulder and breathe him in. Ever since you were a kid, you've always found his scent reassuring and grounding. It's no different now. "I'm really tired, Cas. I promise we can talk more about this in the morning, and you can tell the boys, and then we can all talk about it, but for now..." you sigh, your voice muffled by his ever-present trench coat. "For now, I just want to sleep." You lift your head to give him a pleading look. He looks as if he wants to push further, but he relents when he sees the look in your eyes. 

"Okay, Y/N." He says, standing up and lifting you onto your bed, tucking you in gently. He sees the cuts and scars on your arms in the process and sighs. One more thing to talk about, in the morning. "I will put you to sleep with no dreams, then I will watch over you until you wake. At that time, we will go see the brothers and have a talk."

You nod, your eyes tired, but your heart grateful that Cas is so understanding. Cas places two fingers on your forehead and you drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep. Cas leans over and places a kiss where his fingers had just been, combing your hair to the side carefully before taking a seat next to your bed and settling in for a long night. 

"Sleep, Y/N. I hope that when you wake, your thoughts will be at least a little less turbulent." The angel whispers. Softly, he sings an Enochian lullaby, the room filling with strange yet peaceful sounds.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! I also hope maybe this can help a few people.  
> Comments are welcomed, and sincerely appreciated. 
> 
> I really needed to write this. I am in a dark place right now and this helped me get out some of my feelings. I've suffered from depression, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts for a while now. They're not things to mess around with.  
> If you're thinking about killing yourself, please get help or call someone you trust. Remember, you are loved. There are people that care about you. You matter. Even if you don't believe me.  
> Suicide Lifeline (US): 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or 1-800-SUICIDE (784-2433)  
> LGBT Youth Suicide Hotline: 1-866-4-U-TREVOR  
> International Suicide Hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html (click on the link then select your country)


End file.
